


light and saturation

by 7sun



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Black and White AU, F/M, Harry Styles - Freeform, M/M, Soulmate AU, side Ziam, zayn and liam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7sun/pseuds/7sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>soulmate AU where you can't see colour until you meet your soulmate. </p><p>harry is alone but satisfied, until he meets his soulmate at an art gallery.<br/>zayn and liam have been in love for quite some time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to adriana, of course, once again.
> 
> the side ziam is dedicated to christiana.

            It felt like being trapped in every underground subway system in New York. It felt like explosions, both the good and the bad kind. The kind that light up  in your eyes on New Years, all bright and colourful, and the kind that cause forest fires and heat waves. It felt like the feeling sunlight on your bare skin in winter. Love was always something to run from, something that wasn't needed.

            Harry had his hood up. The sky was a bare, cloudy gray and the clouds sang their same old song. It wasn't raining, and it was barely snowing but it was cold. He watched the people pass by, smiling and dressed up in light raincoats. They had flowers in their hands, passing them to their lovers, or pinned in their pockets. He chucked; flowers in February? The freezing air was filled with dark rose petals and lovers wearing rose coloured glasses. Harry slid his hands deep into his pockets and breathed a cloud of misty air.

            Downtown wasn't usually as crowded this time of the year. He could hear the soft clicking of his boots on the pavement underneath the faint giggles between exchanged glances. They were everywhere; the lovers.

            Of course, he wouldn't know. Harry had always imagined that if he had been in their place, he would have glimmering eyes and smiles as wide as his cheeks every time he looked at her. The difference between Harry and them, however, is that he doesn't have a "her". It's just Harry. He began to think it would be such forever.

"Hey, my man!" chirped Zayn from across the street. He was dressed in a black coat and he grew his hair out long enough to be placed in a thick bun. It had been a while.

"Hey," Harry called. He tried to not yell too loud, he wouldn't want to break the love cast spell of the people around me. Tiny snowflakes were falling around them, highlighting Zayn's dark attire, but it wasn't they weren't the only ones falling, especially at this time of the year.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Zayn smiled, putting his arm around Liam, who was hopping alongside him.

            Zayn didn't have a "her", either. He believed he would for quite a while, he even went on a chain of unsystematic dating in high school. On occasion, he would even blend into the girls that he dated. He dated a volleyball player once, and suddenly, Zayn who loved staying indoors and playing video games became the most athletic guy on Earth. Another time, he dated a singer and Harry could have sworn he was ready to join an upcoming pop boy band. Although, that was never the Zayn that Harry knew.

            Zayn was always quiet but he had the softest heart. It was almost like he saw in colour his whole life, he lit up the world. It wasn't long until one short trip to a coffee shop resulted in Zayn pouring his entire life into art and colour. Zayn didn't have a "her", but he had Liam, and that was always more than enough.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Harry mumbled, watching the crowd of people around them grow larger. There must have been a rose sale going on or something, "We should get outta here."

"Of course," Liam said, quick-wittedly, "I was thinking before the debut, we could get a coffee? Maybe hit up the place where we met, babe?" Liam nudged Zayn's forearm and Zayn squinted and smiled. They both ended up mirroring each other's cheeky smiles and clasped hands. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Come on, lovebirds," Harry sighed, "the gallery opens in an hour. We've got plenty of time."


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was walking pacingly, with Zayn and Liam trailing behind him. They were probably admiring birds that flew North way too soon, or counting the rose petals dropped on the cobblestone ground. Harry had his hands in his pockets and a smug frown painted onto his face. The people around him smiled at Harry as he passed, though he didn't even spare a glare.

            It wasn't that Harry was glum, or hateful. He just didn't find love and at this point, with University starting in the fall, he had felt like his whole life just passed him by and it was much too late. Harry would rather be at home, polishing off a novel or studying for exams. He had a filmmaking report due Monday, but Zayn and Liam were persistent to get Harry out of the house for Valentine's Day to see a new art exhibit's debut. Harry didn't see the point, especially if he didn't have anyone to bring himself.

            When he was younger, he did dream up a life where he found love at a younger age, much like Zayn and Liam. He chased butterflies down his street at age six, hoping that a cute girl with short dark braids was chasing the same ones, and if they happened to be soulmates, he would be able to see the colours of their wings. At age eleven, he used to wander around the underground subway system with Zayn after school, both of whom would carry colouring books and bright vacation pamphlets if to test if they passed their soulmate while getting off at a stop. After a while, Harry gave up. It wasn't long until Zayn's high spirit almost gave up, too, that is until he met Liam. Harry still isn't quite sure if Zayn and Liam were platonic or romantic soulmates, or perhaps something in between, but either way, around each other they were always caught up in a dreamy haze and it made them happy.

            When Harry did believe in soulmates, and when he was eager to find his own, his mother used to tell him stories about them before bed. He remembers when his green eyes were about the size of the moon at age six, asking her to tell him more about soulmates.

"How will I know if someone is my soulmate?" Harry asked, quite a long time ago, his voice tiny and bright.

"You'll know when you know, Harry," his mother, Anne, replied, dropping a kiss on his cheek, "you will be able to see in colour."

"Cowore? What's that?" Harry asked.

"Colour is a magical thing." Anne sat on his bed, "Everything has a different colour. Just like the way you perceive different shades of grey in light and dark tones, except there's a whole world to be discovered. Sometimes a colour is like a feeling, you can get a bit or a lot all at once."

"Do you see colour, mommy?"

"Why, yes I do," Anne responded, with a slight laugh "although it did take me some time." Anne didn't see colour until she was thirty-four, when he met Harry's stepfather. She had spent her life reassuring Harry that he would find his soulmate eventually, and then all the time you spent without them, and without colour, is made up in the end. When Harry or his sister Gemma asks her why she initially married a man that she clearly knew was not her soulmate, and she responds that when you're waiting for love, you do the craziest things. That's why Harry doesn't plan on waiting, he doesn't plan on opening up the door at all.

"What colour am I?" Harry asked.

"Harry, my dear, you're made of a multitude of colours," Anne laughed, she wrapped her fingers around his soft curls and stroked his arm, "your hair is dark brown, the same colour as the bark on the trees. It's warm. Your eyes are green, the same colours as the leaves, and your lips are pink, much like a rose."

"What colour are my PJ's?" Harry exclaimed, jumping around in his bed wearing Spiderman pajamas.

"Well, they're a soft blue, the colour of the early morning sky or the ocean, and Spiderman is red, like an apple or a strawberry."

"Mommy?" Harry asked, after he stopped jumping. He sat down beside her, and his eyes had never looked quite as big, "What's a soulmate?"

"A soulmate is someone who you love and who loves you back, equally," Anne tells him, while Harry lays down and she tucks him in, "They love you wholeheartedly and unconditionally. Although you might not have known them your whole life, you always carry a piece of them in your heart, like they're a part of your soul. When you meet them for the very first time, they light up your entire being, which is why you see colour."

            Harry remembers his mother's exact words to this day, even if he went on to not want a soulmate. He still believes in them, for his mother's and sister's sake, but he doesn't need one. His mother is happy with Robin, his stepfather, and in time, Gemma found her soulmate, too. He hasn't heard much from her since she left the country about a year ago to tour the world with him, but he wishes them well. He likes to think that Gem and her soulmate and somewhere in the South of France, wearing big sweaters where they can identify all the colours.

            The walk was brisk, but with Zayn and Liam by his side, it felt like an eternity, although he knew that would be heaven for the both of them. They met at a downtown coffee shop that, according to Zayn, sells the best macadamia nut cookies on the planet.

"Here we are," Harry mumbled, almost acting like a tour host, though he knew Zayn and Liam were too lost in themselves to pay attention to what Harry had to say.

They walked in to a red and beige painted coffee shop, privately owned by some couple; soulmates, obviously. Red and beige were the first colours they saw. Harry didn't care, he couldn't see the colours either way. It wasn't any bigger than the first floor of someone's house, and that was what it was set up to look like. There was a fireplace, a few couches and loveseats and some chestnut coffee tables. The sound of small talk and soft giggles filled the air, along with a hint of vanilla coffee and freshly baked cookies. Some people were lounging around on couches, hand in hand, and others had sketchbooks and notepads sprawled out on the tables. They all had roses pined on their chests.

"Well if this isn't paradise," Zayn remarked, walking to a loveseat and a single chair. Harry obviously sat down on the chair.

"I'm going to go order, babe," Liam said, before pecking Zayn's stubbly cheek. Zayn nodded, sat down on the loveseat facing Harry and watched Liam walk off.

Harry had began to realize that those wearing roses pined to their shirts and jackets were a symbol of love, of soulmates. He saw that Zayn and Liam were both wearing white roses; Zayn had one pinned to his black jacket and Liam had one pinned to his cotton sweater. Harry rolled his eyes.

"So," Zayn began, trying to keep up a conversation, "have you been seeing anyone?"

"What do you think?" Harry chuckled, gesturing around. Zayn took a small spin around the room and noticed all the couples in love; sitting way to close to each other, all dewy eyes and rosy cheeked. That's when Liam hurried back with a tray of drinks and knocked Zayn back into his rosy illusion. Zayn and Liam both had some sort of whip cream milkshake extravaganza with pink sprinkles on top, while Liam was already familiar with Harry's order, a medium dark roast with a hint of cinnamon. He didn't need colourful sprinkles, he wouldn't have been able to see them, anyways.

"You really should start looking, Harry," Zayn said, without looking at him. Zayn kissed a speck of whip cream off of Liam's nose after he took his first sip.

"Love," Liam began, holding a strong gaze with Zayn, "is never something to run from."

"You two should be more frugal with how you express it," Harry mumbled.

"Frugal?" Zayn asked, "What's that?"

"Careful," Harry told him, sipping his coffee, "cautious."

"Love," Liam continued, edging closer to Zayn and connecting arms, "should never be cautious."

"Yeah, yeah." Harry muttered indistinctively.

"Hey, isn't this the exact spot where we met?" Zayn asked Liam, ignoring Harry's sarcastic remarks.

"No, you idiot, it was over there!" Liam called, "By the high tables."

"Oh yeah," Zayn nodded, his eyes half closed, "I remember. It was around exam time two years ago, right?"

They went on to tell the story about how they met. As much as Harry dreaded hearing about true love and soulmates, he didn't mind hearing about how his two pals came to be. They were fifteen when they first met and they both coincidentally science exams. Zayn has four sisters and needed a break from home, so he picked out the coffee shop on his walk home from school, while Liam just needed to get out of the house and bused until he reached the end of the route, and when he got off, the coffee shop was the first place he saw. Zayn spread his notes out on a high table then went to order a few cookies, and Liam immediately noticed they were studying for the same exam. They didn't attend the same schools, though; Zayn went to a public school downtown and Liam went to a private school with tartan ties and button shirts by the countryside. Liam decided to sit on the high chair beside Zayn's notes, and when Zayn came back, colour was pouring out of each other their hearts.

The first colour Liam saw was the honey-brown of Zayn's bright eyes, while the first colour Liam saw was the emerald green of Zayn's uniform tie. They were both fairly short at the time and Liam was all sweaty palmed and chubby cheeks, but they insist that they were the most beautiful sight they have witnessed, to this day. They spent the rest of the evening, going on into the night, both studying and chatting about themselves. Liam was waiting for his soulmate, he was one of the first in his school to find his. Zayn wasn't searching, and with Harry's over shining attitude, he was beginning to have his doubts as well, though ever since he met Liam, he's been starry eyed since. When Zayn got home that night, Harry was the first person he called. He went on and on about Liam's eyes and how he could sing and how he smiled what he talked about what he loves and how he has two turtles and so on and so on. Harry just rolled his eyes, once more, and told Zayn he was proud of him.

Harry has heard this story a thousand times. He listened to Zayn tell it to his sisters, when each of them met their soulmates, and to Harry's mom, and to a few classmates. It never gets old, though Harry's just about heard enough when it comes to soulmates. While Zayn and Liam continued to exchange warm glances through the sweet aroma of vanilla and coffee, Harry took bitter sips by himself. He rested his arms and stared out a window. What a world it must be to see in iridescence and colour. What a world it must be to love and be loved in return.


	3. Chapter 3

The art exhibit opened at 4; though if Harry wasn't there to remind Zayn and Liam about the concept of time, they would be in that coffee shop forever staring into each other's eyes. Sometimes, Harry wonders if there is a whole other world to explore in the eyes of a lover, though he knows it's all bluff.

Harry lead the way down the street to the art gallery, with Zayn and Liam trailing behind him once again. A huge pack of lovers stood outside the museum, hand in hand, complaining about the sold out debut. Some payed their way in, a bargain much higher than the price Zayn paid for the tickets, and others just wandered off, planning to go on some dinner date to make up for it. Zayn was telling Liam all about the artists that were going to be featured in the debut; allegedly, some of them were from the same town as them. It was a big deal to be featured in the gallery. Zayn went on about how Liam was the 'true art' and, while Liam was blushing, Harry sighed.

The gallery was located in the heart of the city, surrounded by fountains and a large rose garden. There was a thin layer of snow that piled on top of them and the fountain water was frozen because of the cold weather, but the roses were still in full bloom.

When they initially walked in, there was more packs of people, their faces radiant in awe. The entry aisle filled the walls with student drawings and paintings; most of them Uni students but a few were advanced high schools students. They had charcoal drawings, oil paintings and pencilled portraits on display. Young couples were wandering up and down the hall, new found soulmates expressing their love. Some would stop and point at a charcoal figure or an oil flower in amazement, while others were too lost in their significant other. Harry merely walked straight pass them, stopping to look at every single drawing. He knew that charcoal was black, and the pencil ones probably looked the same in black and white, but he had trouble analyzing the paintings. They were all vivid shades of different greys, too much to take in all at once. Harry stopped at a close up painting of a rose, a bit of a Georgia O'Keefe spin off.

"Zayn," Harry asked, "what colour is a rose?"

When Harry was younger, his mother would compare colours to objects. Harry's green eyes were the same colour as a field of grass or a shiny emerald, but looking into the felt warm because of the erratic gold flecks, much like looking into the sun.

"Huh?" Zayn asked. He was a foot or two away from Harry, hand in hand with Liam. They were admiring some student portraits.

"What colour is a rose?"

"Red, of course." Liam told him, matter-of-factly, "Though they also come in pink, and probably other colours, as well. Could've sworn I've seen a yellow rose passing by."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. Zayn was better at describing things, Harry didn't understand why Liam had to answer his question instead.

"Babe, I think he wants a better explanation," Zayn whispered to Liam, nudging his stomach. Liam nodded and laughed, then put his arm around Zayn's waist. "They're beautiful, Harry. They look the way a sunrise feels, getting up early and having some extra time to finish a book. They look the way it feels to blush or the way a piano sounds; delicate but intense."

"They're beautiful, Harry," Liam repeated, "just you wait and see."

The three of them wandered down a few other halls. Zayn was interested in seeing the Aboriginal exhibit, all colours and culture. Most of them were paintings and sculptures of landscapes during the colonial era and artifacts found in different tribes. Zayn was pointing everything out to Liam, and giving him a Wikipedia-article type speech  to go along with them. Harry remained humble and wide-eyed, admiring every piece they way someone would admire their lover.

They wandered into a hall on the third floor, overlooking the city. The tall gallery walls hung over them, and Zayn and Liam hung over a balcony that opened up to the cold air. They clasped their hands with one another and stood in silence, watching the people in the distance, as small as ants, roam around the city in love. The air was all icy and floral. Harry strolled down the third floor, listening to a vague lecture going on further down the hall about some famous painter and a tragic life they had led. Harry tried to seem interested in the smallest of things, such as the architecture of the building; the carving of the pillars the stood before the balcony and the height of the deep grey curtains that stood by the tall windows, in order to subtly ignore Zayn and Liam kissing on the balcony.

Harry stood in front of a painting that had the inscription "Floods by Anil Nene" underneath it. Describing it inside of his head was hard after he heard how people described paintings using colours. The painting showed a bridge, surrounded by trees above a reflecting lake. It was very vivid but light to look at. The lake had a dusk glow to it, like waking up early, as Zayn told him before. From afar, the lake and the trees glistened and as Harry approached the painting, closer and closer, he began to notice all the fine detail put into the work. It reminded him of his childhood, all chasing butterflies and glistening eyes, Harry was prepared to jump into a world that was not yet ready for him, if ready at all. That being said, those were his happiest moments. Jumping along the pavement near his old house, nearing the end of the city, where his mum baked his fresh cookies every so often and he could smell the aroma from down the street. Harry didn't need to see colour, he had so many other gleaming qualities.

The tour host made his way to the balcony's side of the hall, along with a small group of people, all lovers, all holding roses.

"Over here is a painting called "Waterfall"," he said, gesturing to the very last painting at the end of the hall, "it was painted in 1956 in our very city by a man named Rochester Green. It alludes to his mother's death, and the tears that came after."

The group chorused in applause. The tour host made a final speech about the gallery and the exhibition going on downstairs, that's when Harry eyed Zayn and Liam on the balcony, who were now listening attentively.

"The soulmate exhibition starts in a few minutes," the tour host announced, "but feel free to grab something in the cafe on the first floor."

_"Soulmate exhibition?"_ Harry thought, frowning, _"Zayn dragged me along to take me to a soulmate exhibit?"_

The tour host began describing what would take place in the exhibit. Soulmates are going to get up in front of an audience and talk about how they first met. They are then going to take place in an art performance, both visual and interactive, where they talk about the first colour they saw while painting it.

Zayn ran up to Harry, with Liam being dragged along through held hands.

"We should get going to the exhibit," Liam said, tugging on Zayn's hand.

"Harry," Zayn contended with a slightly hesitant tone, "you're welcome to join us."

"Yeah, Harry," Liam added, "I heard that non-lovers will be paired up, anyways. It's a perfect chance to meet someone, there are plenty of people who don't have soulmates that came along."

"Who knows," Zayn nudged Harry, "you might even meet your _own_."

"I'm going to stick this one out," Harry said, holding a grimace, "as always."

"We are telling our story," Liam said, "and we're painting a modern piece on our first colours; gold and green."

"I wouldn't want you missing it," Zayn added, "It would mean a lot if you showed up."

"I told you, I don't have a soulmate," Harry insisted, "and I don't want anything to do with them!"

"You could still find _someone_ ," Liam complied, "just like your mum did before she met Robin. She couldn't see colour before him, with your dad, but in the end, you came along!"

"Well, maybe I was an accident!" Harry cried.

He stormed off, running in the opposite direction. He ran past the paintings, past the balcony and the pillars and past the third floor and the tall walls into the staircase. He stood there, his eyes filling with tears. His mum told him when he was young, there were some colours that were substituted for emotions. When she felt happy, she felt yellow. Though, when she cried, she felt blue. It never made any sense to Harry, though he felt that if he could see colour right now, he would feel blue as well.

Harry stumbled down the staircase, occasionally wiping his watery eyes. Perhaps he was a mistake? His parents were never soulmates, so perhaps the product of two non-lovers create someone who, in the end, has no one. Someone who will never experience colour. Someone who will never experience love. Harry tried not to let the soulmate concept bother him, though, it breaks his heart to think that while everyone is starry eyed looking at their lover, he is dewy eyed from lonesomeness, growing old and alone.

He found his way to the gift shop at the very back of the gallery. It was completely abandoned due to the soulmate exhibition. He saw some key chains and postcards passing by. His mother always told him sunsets were the most beautiful thing about seeing colour; watching an array of light and saturation dip into the sea. Harry looked at postcards with photos of sunsets on the beach and wondered what it was like to feel colour. He could feel the sun's warmth and see its light, but was there another world ahead of him? A world where roses bloom?

He wouldn't know.

A painting hung right outside of the gift shop. It had the inscription "Bahamas" and it was a painting of the sunset on the beach. Harry wondered about whomever painted it, and why those chose the colours they used-

"Do you like it?" a voice chirped in beside him, cutting off his thought process. Harry stood facing it, a smile forming on his face.

"Yes," he said, "I do."

He felt someone standing next to him. He knew he had been alone, and there wasn't anyone in the gift shop. Who was as alone as him to skip the soulmate exhibition?

"Why?" the voice asked, "Why do you like it?"

Harry cocked his head to the side and put his arms around his back, holding them. The voice wasn't familiar; not Zayn or Liam's. It was a girl's, smooth and calm, like honey, or the sunset, and it was very composed.

"It reminds me of what my mother used to tell me when I asked her about colour," he told the girl, studying the painting. It had depths of volume and different hues of grey, and it was very accurately painted.

"Do you like the colours?" the girl asked.

"I don't know," Harry responded, shrugging, "I can't see any."

"Me neither," the girl sighed, "and I painted it."

Harry was shocked and spun towards her. Both of their eyes widened in awe. The girl immediately spun back to the painting, while Harry stayed resting his gaze on her.

"You painted this?" He asked, though his voice struggled to form words, "And you can't see colour?"

The girl didn't move, let alone respond. She stayed fixated on the painting. Her skin was warm, and her clothing looked like the way it felt to cry. She must have been dressed in blue. That was the first colour Harry saw. He began to respire, breathing quicker and heavier, and then forming a big smile, crescenting his dimples. Harry immediately grabbed the girl's arm, giving it a soft squeeze.

"Do you see that?" he whispered, almost like he was sharing a secret.

The girl nodded, her eyes wide.

"Is that colour?" he asked her, and she nodded again. She slowly turned her head back towards him and mirrored his smile. Her first colour was the yellow of the sun she painted.

Harry grabbed her hand and led to down the hall, while she followed along, her long steps trailing behind his quick ones.

"I have to show you something!" he exclaimed. He finally had colour. It felt like his heart was filled with flowers and his stomach was filled with butterflies. He had a soulmate. Their hands fit perfectly together, though hers was quite smaller than his. They were both equitably warm. They watched as drops of colours, different hues and saturation, fell all around them. It felt like explosions were going off while they ran through the hall. It felt like being on fire in a snowstorm.

Harry stopped in front of the oil painted rose from before at the entry. Both of their eyes were wide in awe. Harry couldn't stop staring at the girl, who stood right at his shoulders, while she couldn't stop staring at the rose.

"Tell me," he asked, "what do you see?"

"I didn't know roses could look like this," she responded.

"It's beautiful," Harry began.

"It's amazing," she continued, "it's like eating a strawberry in the summer. What colour is that?"

"I was told it was red," Harry laughed, "but it could be pink."

"It reminds me of apples, too."

"It reminds me of love."

They both turned to face each other. They were soul mates.

"I'm Adriana," the girl told him, smiling with both her eyes and her mouth.

"I'm Harry." he responded.

Their eyes began to melt into each other. Although they could hear the vague noise of the exhibition, they managed to close off all noise as if they were the only two in the entire solar system. Harry's arms reached out and wrapped around Adriana's shoulders and head. She dipped towards his torso and wrapped her arms around his waist. He put his chin on the top of her head and they softly swayed, though they felt motionless, powerless. Harry gave her a kiss on her forehead. He pressed her to his heart and it felt like the rest of the world vanished.

This is what it felt like to love.


	4. epilogue

They were lying out in the sun in June, one earphone in Harry's ear and one earphone in Adriana's, the tall grass covering them.

They were listening to love songs from the sixties and feeling the sun set on their skin. They could feel a thousand sun sets but nothing compared to their first, the one that Adriana painted.

"Tell me again about your painting," Harry asked, in a soft mellow voice, " "Bahamas" was it called?"

Their hands were tightly clasped and they were staring up at a pink and orange sky, watching the clouds pass along.

"It was for an art project," Adriana told him, "I had to paint something with meaning. I took a trip to the Bahamas during break and when I came back, all I could think about were sunsets. How warm they felt, how relaxing and cathartic; I knew that was what I had to paint. All of my friends who had found their soulmates were rambling on and on about how beautiful sunsets looked in colour, so I let them help me. My art teacher loved in so much and, at the time, since I only saw in greys, she thought it was so impressive that she wanted to display it in the student hall."

Harry sighed, though this time it was long and flourishing, like a yawn at the end of a long day. Adriana and him had only been together for four months, though it might as well had been forever.

They shared a love for older music and literature, as well as sly comments every so often. When they touched, it was like touching a spark; electric but warm. They never stopped holding hands. Harry finally understood how it felt to love and be loved it return, although it couldn't compare to any saturated colour he had seen before.

It felt like light.


End file.
